


shout out to my ex (you're really quite the man)

by kylorekt (matsuokarins)



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Bad drunken decisions, M/M, Post X-Men: First Class, and my typical cherik angst, ex boyfriends, low-key inspired by a little mix song, ngl this is shitty I'm sorry, sad ending i am sorry friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matsuokarins/pseuds/kylorekt
Summary: charles blames erik for everything that goes wrong in the world: loudly, to strangers. until he unexpectedly meets erik again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> basically i watched days of future past and then listened to little mix's song "shout out to my ex" and this fic i wrote solely to please myself was born

Nothing got Charles fired up like Erik. 

 

This had been true when they were together, and remained just as -- maybe even more -- true now that they were decidedly  _ not _ . 

 

Erik had always possessed the unique ability to get completely under Charles’s skin and into his mind in a way Charles could only suppose was similar to the access he had to the minds of others. 

 

His emotions were always heightened around Erik -- happiness, empathy, love, lust, anger, loathing, whatever it was, had felt ten times stronger when Erik was present, when Erik was in his life as a lover. 

 

Charles didn’t see Erik anymore, but now the mere mention of his name -- or any of the highly euphemized substitutions Hank tried to use to avoid setting Charles off -- automatically raised his blood pressure and set his emotions to boiling. 

 

Only one emotion, really. 

 

Anger. 

 

And sadness, grief, but these were private emotions that plagued Charles only when he was alone and his own mind betrayed him by straying to Erik. 

 

Sometimes it didn’t even take Erik’s name to overwhelm Charles’s better judgement, his amygdala completely erasing any logical input his prefrontal cortex may have had. Reminders of Erik were often enough to send Charles raging. Namely, broadcasted news stories and blaring headlines.  _ City Attacked -- Magneto Suspected.  _ Or even simply “Hi this is any newscaster coming at you live from any city, where we are witnessing any unexplained accident or explosion of unknown cause.” 

 

Charles saw Erik in all of these. And, much to his constant companion Hank’s dismay, he had been known to break open his liquor cabinet and open a new bottle of vodka and insist he and Hank drink to the report. 

 

“To Erik fucking Lehnsherr, world’s worst ex boyfriend!” Charles would decree. 

 

“Is this ever going to get old to you?” Hank would ask patiently, drinking to whatever new disaster was playing on the screen and trying not to roll his eyes. 

 

“Is Erik ever going to stop being a douche?” Charles would respond. “More at 11:00.” 

 

Hank didn’t hesitate to roll his eyes and grumble his disapproval at this point. “You have to get over it eventually,” he’d insist. “Believe it or not, I’ve also been in relationships that have ended and, trust me, you can’t be angry forever.” 

 

“Get back to me when your ex is blowing up cities.” 

 

“There isn’t actually evidence to implicate Erik in almost all of these trag--” 

 

“Still don’t see your exes blowing up cities,” Charles would finish, taking another shot, and the conversation about Erik would be over. 

 

Charles’s entire life was a giant drinking game. Take a shot every time your asshole ex makes a move to destroy the world. 

 

Beyond this, Charles thought he had been handling his fallout with Erik rather well. He still held classes, still had a purpose in life. He still went out occasionally. Tried to keep his mind occupied. It worked until something else somewhere exploded. 

 

One night Charles dragged Hank to a mutant bar in the nearest city -- or perhaps Hank had dragged Charles, both had gotten a little too drunk throughout the night to actually remember the circumstances of them being there. Both needed to blow off a little steam every once in awhile; teaching had that effect. 

 

They had been sitting at the bar for a few hours, talking, laughing and drinking. Charles had had just enough that the room felt warm and glowing and his lips were a bit numb; he was in a good place. It was then that Charles happened to look up and glance at the three televisions behind the bar. One of them was playing the news; Charles thought this was a rather tacky thing for a bar to do, unless it was election day he typically went out to have fun and not to watch -- no. 

 

“Would you fucking look at that?” Charles said abruptly, interrupting Hank mid-joke, the alcohol bringing his temper immediately to the surface. 

 

“Wha--” Hank began to ask, following Charles’s outstretched hand to the TV broadcasting the news. A major water main had burst in Los Angeles. The camera panned to the wreckage before swinging back to the reporter, who was explaining that the causes of this explosion were “as of yet, unknown” though “a full investigation” was already in process. Hank brought his hand to his temple in consternation. 

 

“There simply isn’t any escaping him, is there?” Charles asked bitterly. He telepathically directed the bartender’s attention to himself and Hank. “Another round please,” Charles began, then hesitated and turned around to face away from the bar, slightly wobbly with inebriation. “Actually,” he said loudly, shouting over the din of the bar. “Another round for everyone in the place!” 

 

The appreciative cheering in the bar lasted as long as it took for the bartender to put another shot glass in front of Charles, who promptly held it above his head. Hank looked like he wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment. 

 

“A toast!” Charles roared. “A shoutout to my ex! An absolute dickwad of a guy! Goes like this--” Charles waved his free hand back and forth in a crude imitation of Erik using his powers “-- and boom!” Charles pointed to the TV. “Metal explodes everywhere. Really quite the man.” Charles downed his shot, signalling the end of his speech, which was met with placating applause and a few “Yeah, fuck that guy!” yells. 

 

“Was that really necessary?” Hank asked as Charles reached for another shot glass. “We don’t even know that--” 

 

A loud laugh -- out of place enough to silence the room -- from a table at the back of the bar cut Hank off; Charles and Hank whipped around immediately. 

 

The laugh turned into a purposeful cough and the man sitting alone at the table in the back stood up. “And here’s to  _ my _ ex,” an all-too-familiar voice rang out as Erik Lehnsherr stepped into the middle of the room. 

 

Charles froze, the hand gripping the shot glass turning white.  

 

“Who is clearly still obsessed with me,” Erik continued, eyes boring into the back of Charles’s head. “Cheers, Charles!” 

 

The racket that exploded in the bar after this proclamation was enough to jolt Charles out of his shock at hearing Erik’s voice to process what he had said. 

 

Erik. Erik was  _ here. _ Why the fuck was Erik here? How had Charles failed to realize it? If there was anyone’s mind he thought he would know in this close of a vicinity, know without even looking for it, it was Erik’s. So how? 

 

“Evening.” Erik’s voice was right behind him now. Charles slowly turned his chair. Hank willed himself to fade into nonexistence immediately and after an agonizing thirty seconds muttered an excuse about having to use the bathroom and walked away, ignoring the stunned glares Charles was shooting him. 

 

Cornered, Charles looked up to face Erik. “Erik. It’s been a while.” 

 

“Indeed,” Erik agreed easily. “Come to find you accusing me of every catastrophe humans suffer. Tragic. And I thought you knew me better than that.” 

 

“Hm.” Charles responded noncommittally. “I guess this one wasn’t you, as you’re here.” 

 

“Astute observation; I would expect nothing less from you, Charles,” Erik murmured. 

 

Charles felt blood rush to his face; he couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol, or Erik’s comment, or the fact that Erik was  _ here _ and whispering his name like that, that he was  _ here _ and he smelled the same and that scent had always been intoxicating enough on its own. 

 

“Do you really still think I’m a -- how did you put it?-- a dickwad? Still so angry?” Erik asked after Charles didn’t respond. Erik’s stare was focused in on Charles’s face, his gaze hungry, drinking him in; Charles imagined he looked much the same. 

 

He never let himself look at pictures of Erik, after all, and it had been so long since he’d seen his face. 

 

“You would know something about anger, wouldn’t you? And I don’t know, Erik. I think your misguided ideals and violent actions have always put you in the “dickwad” category,” Charles finally said, finding himself unable to filter his words quite as much as he would have liked to. He dimly remembered planning in detail everything he wanted to say to Erik in a perfect situation. But in that perfect situation Charles wasn’t 90% of the way to sloppy drunk and cornered unexpectedly in a crowded bar. “Besides, we’ve been over this before. You left. I can feel what I like now.” 

 

Erik was quiet, eyes turned towards the ceiling for a long while before he turned back to Charles. “You think it didn’t hurt me too?” 

 

“Are we really having this conversation now? Here?” Charles spluttered.    
  


“We’re both here now, at the same time, for some reason.” Erik shrugged. “And if you hadn’t made that speech letting me know you still think about me I might not even have known you were here. Why let an opportunity go to waste?” 

 

“Of course I’m still thinking about you -- thinking about how to combat your destructive plans!” Charles blustered.  **_And how fucking much I want to kiss you right now._ **

 

Erik’s eyes widened slightly. Charles felt his heart stop beating; he hadn’t meant to project that thought, hadn’t been trying to get into Erik’s mind and holy fucking shit he was swearing off of alcohol  _ right now _ . 

 

“For old time’s sake?” Erik asked appraisingly, raising his eyebrow. 

 

Charles knew he would regret this. He knew the second Erik walked out the door he would rue the day he ever decided to come to this bar. But right now Charles currently had no inclination to control his impulses, and he  _ wanted _ to and just maybe he wouldn’t regret it. Maybe fate had sent him here tonight and maybe Erik could still choose differently. Maybe he  _ would _ choose differently. 

 

“Lead the way,” Charles said. 

 

Three minutes later Charles found himself kissing Erik in a shadowy hallway near the bathrooms, intellectually knowing that a drunk makeout with his ex at a bar was a new low, but too physically on fire to care. The alcohol dulled the voices telling him that this was a bad idea and let him focus on Erik. The feel of his lips,  of drowning in the scent of him, the way his hands knotted themselves in Charles’s hair, pulling the strands and making him whimper. Charles held Erik’s face in his hands in a desperate attempt to keep him here forever; his fingers traced Erik’s brows, his cheekbones as he leaned further into the kiss. 

 

Charles could feel Erik’s mind and the outpouring of his emotions, the synthesis with Charles’s own. Joy, relief, the feeling of home mingled with deep pain, bittersweet longing.

 

“Charles,” Erik whispered against Charles’s lips after what felt like a small eternity. Charles opened his eyes to look at Erik, their noses pressed together. If he leaned up slightly, Charles could capture Erik’s lips in another kiss and stop whatever it was he was going to say. They could stay this way a little longer. 

 

Instead, he let it slip.  **_I love you_ ** . 

 

“I wish I had another lifetime for you,” Erik sighed, meeting Charles’s gaze. “I’m so sorry, Charles. I wish we could--” 

 

“We  _ could _ ,” Charles whispered. Erik laughed humorlessly, his eyes sad, before he leaned in to kiss Charles again. 

 

“My foolish optimist,” Erik said as broke away from the kiss, his hand still in Charles’s hair, stroking it slightly. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and moved back from Charles taking the warmth, the oblivion of the moment with him. 

 

“Don’t do this again,” Charles begged as Erik walked towards the end of the hallway to leave the bar and any foreseeable chance of making things right again, knowing it would make no difference. “You still have a choice.” 

 

“You know I’ve already made mine.” Erik paused at the entrance. “Just know… I think of you often. I hope… I hope you can find your happiness again.” 

 

Erik turned to leave again and then turned around one last time, smiling. “Oh, and stop giving drunken rants about me at bars. You’ll ruin both of our reputations.”

 

Charles felt a hysterical laugh bubble from his lips as he watched Erik’s retreating back until it vanished around the corner. He leaned his head against the wall and let himself laugh, keeping tears at bay. 

  
His life was a cruel, messy drinking game. One shot every time Erik destroyed a city. Ten shots every time Erik broke his heart.


End file.
